


The Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine.

by Monopoly



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Vampire Hunter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monopoly/pseuds/Monopoly
Summary: Drabble.A vampire attack on a small town leaves them reeling, most of all Charlie Swan, whose daughter is the sole survivor.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	The Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine.

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no life , I'm a grown ass adult and I'm still writing twilight fanfiction
> 
> This has been cross-posted to tumblr, so if you see me over there you should give me a follow I'm Edythe-Cullen
> 
> But uhhhh enjoy

Everything happened so fast. 

Blood, horror and terror all at once. Mike was first, he didn’t seem to understand what was happening. A pale, slender hand wrapped itself around his neck, a white flash of teeth then red, so much red. The creature had hit the main artery, the gushing torrent of his life force pumped out and onto the ground, the blanket they had been sat on was wet and marred with splatter. There had been no time to scream, instead his last moments were open mouthed, crying out for his mother. 

Then, Jessica and Tyler in tandem. The vampire who had misjudged Mike was moving on, leaving the boy half-dead gasping amongst the grass. Jessica was in his arms, almost a loving embrace as he tore into her throat. Another vampire had appeared, red headed and wild, she reached for Tyler who did not have a chance to flee. Only then did Bella understand what was happening, the stake hidden inside her bag had slipped from her mind. She had never before used it to defend herself, it had always been an offensive attack. Her father by her side. Protecting her. Keeping her safe from harm. 

All she could do in that second was run. 

She had reached for Angela, dragging her away while a scream penetrated the air, she could not tell whose it was, only that it was not Mike’s. 

Her converse skidded on the grass, slippery with the dew of twilight, and with blood. 

They had just been leaving, packing up their picnic and heading back towards their cars. They had to be back as they had school the next day, showers were to be had, bags to be packed, lunches to be made. But they had been giggly and happy from the day and the food. The sun had just sunk below the trees leaving a purple cast over the woodland. Jessica had delayed them, demanding golden hour photos and they had all agreed, ready to post the, on Instagram, evidence of their day of fun. 

She hasn’t made it far, collecting herself from a fall, her palms scraped from where they had been cut against the hard ground, her hand had slipped from Angela’s. She was screaming for her to run, to keep running, and not look back. That was when she felt a foot on the small of her back, then a sharp crack. She could flee no longer. 

The vampire reacher out, caressing a finger to her cheek.... then nothing but pain so violent its blackness consumed her. 

*

News of the attack spread like wildfire. 

Forks was only a small town, low crime rates, the occasional drunk driver or low level burglary, but nothing worth it making the news. Well it had, but only once in fact, as the only noteworthy thing about it was that the town experienced the highest rainfall in the continental US. 

Now it was the ‘town of terror’, splashed across every news station, national new stations camped outside the victims of the families, scouring the crime scene for their own inside scoop. 

The school was temporarily closed out of respect for the five senior students involved. A makeshift memorial had been created outside the main entrance, flowers and photographs and letters of mourning while five smiling faces stared out from amongst the public grief. 

*

The house was silent and had been for many days. Alice all but lived at the Cullen house, no one had particularly missed her or even noticed her absence at home. Jasper remained close by at all times, hovering and angry. Too scared to leave her… or touch her. His very presence both protected and endangered her. She saw his conflict in her dreams, of the things he would not voice to her, all that he kept inside his soul that was on fire, always burning.

While in response to the attack the rest of the Cullen’s took shifts, each night patrolling the immediate area. She did not know if they were doing it to protect her, or their own privacy, or in revenge for murdered children. Or what would they do if they did come across the vampires. She had not asked. 

She had seen them both so clearly in her dreams. A man and a woman. Both fair, both handsome but wild with anger and bloodlust, no shreds of humanity remained, not even a facade. Her dreams offered her no answers to their location as hard as she tried. 

Instead she dreamt of the survivor. 

A ventilator pumping air into broken lungs, a body so black and blue, a patchwork of hand prints across her body. 

Carlisle had been upset upon his return, informing them collectively of the state of the survivors. Her condition was deliberate, although he doubted that they had meant for her to live.

It had upset them all, a reminder of what their kind was capable of. 

Alice had known the victims in the way she knew everyone in that small high school, that Mike Newton always pushed in line when getting lunch, pulling on Jessica’s pigtails to rile her up, everyone knew they would be that couple, the childhood sweetheart who would marry. Or that Angela Webber, who sat behind her in maths and would always ask for help from her partner, Ben Cheney, both blushing with the bloom of a first crush. While Alice had often wished to be invited to hang out in Tyler’s van where he would play loud music too early in the morning, and he would laugh and joke, so casual and cool. Or Isabella Swan, the girl who would sit in the canteen staring at Alice with a scowl so deeply etched in her face, as if somehow she knew the truth about her... The only person Jasper had ever warned her to stay away from. 

*

He had not left the hospital in over a week, his moustache was evolving into a full beard. But he didn’t care. How could he? Renee had been called on the day of and she had flown to Forks as quickly as she could. She had displayed her grief loudly and publicly and had retired to his house, their house, nestling herself into his private life as though she had never left. She would bring him food, clean clothes, she would kiss the top of his head just as she used to before. They were united once again for a cause, much like just after the birth of her… 

Crowded in a hospital, praying for her recovery. 

She had been born too early you see, so small, so weak, she hadn’t even been able to breathe on her own in the first few weeks. He wasn’t even able to hold her for those first few months, encased in a large plastic shield protecting her from the outside world. He used to hold Renee so tightly then, her face would be pressed against his neck and he used to wonder how she was able to breathe. He still had had to go to work, he was only a young police officer at the time. He would go and drift through his shift, all thoughts focused upon his newborn. Then he would return straight to the hospital. 

This time he refused to return to work, as chief of police he had advantages and ones he was willing to take full advantage of. So instead he remained there, half-slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chairs desperately grabbing snippets of sleep before returning to his watch. 

He did the same as when she was a baby encased in the plastic tomb, reaching out to take her hand in his own, praying for her to hold his hand in return.

Sleep no longer mattered, hunger no longer motivated him, nothing in the temporal world many any sense. 

One relief was that the vampire had steered clear, the vampire who masqueraded as a doctor in his own local hospital. He had not been part of the debate which had allowed such nonsense of course, and everyone was already quite aware of his opinions. But he technically posed no threat, instead supposedly utilising his ‘gifts’ for good (they still kept an exceptionally close eye on the hospital blood banks and all local hospitals) and appeared a god-fearing good man to everyone who did not know his true evil nature. 

He had however received a letter, written in a ridiculous fancy script that took him longer to decipher than to read the note in its entirety. It was an apology. A sincere expression of grief for the deaths of the teenagers and of the state of his daughter, how the vampire had regretted not being there in order to repel the other vampires, to protect the teenagers and if there was anything he could do to help him... 

He ripped the letter up, burning it with the lighter he always kept on his person. He did not need a vampire’s sympathies. 

Never in his life would he ask for help from a vampire, certainly not Carlisle Cullen. 

*

Carlisle remained at the nurses station, a safe distance away from peering eyes, and unhappy vampire hunters, but close enough he was able to monitor the girl as much as he could and to offer assistance should it be needed. Guilt threatened to overwhelm him often, as it had to be his fault for the death of the four, soon to be five, teenagers. Had their presence not drawn in the strangers then this would not have happened. 

Not that the strangers had made themselves known to them, instead making occasional visits to their land, crisscrossing with their scents, but making no move to communicate. Not that Carlisle would have anything pleasant to say. He had seen the crime scene photographs, the mutilation of the bodies had been graphic, but he could not fully understand the intention, whether it was to be a message, or a warning? 

The mother of Isabella Swan entered once again, looking haggard and wild, with some awful-smelling food packed into a Tupperware container. She went and greeted her ex-husband gently, kissing the top of his head, wincing at his rejection. 

Carlisle wanted to walk away, tend to his other patients, but he could not. Just in case Isabella Swan coded again and he was the only one who could save her, listening to the minute changes in the human body that were lost to the human ear. She had already coded three times within forty-eight hours. 

“Charlie... I’ve spoken to Annalise Becker again...” The bereavement counsellor, who no doubt would have briefed Renee on the best care for her daughter. Informing her where they were in her care plan and where they were going. That there had been little to no change for over a week, that the chances of her waking up were slim and chances of a full recovery was nil. The stress that her body had been put through had been monumental and for a moment Carlisle was immensely proud of this random human girl and her resilience, her fight to live. 

“I don’t want to hear it Renee.” He cut her off, unwilling to consider any other approach than waiting and hoping, that there was any other option than recovery. Annalise Becker had most definitely suggested the termination of life support, it would be quick after that, painless. With the ventilator removed and other wiring that was keeping her alive she would look peaceful, almost like she were sleeping. 

“And what?” There was a crash and he looked away, pretending to read notes, while other hospital staff watched the room just in case their assistance was needed. “You’re not killing my daughter Renee!” The door was thrown open, the door handle slamming into the wall and leaving a deep gouge. Charles Swan stood in the doorway looming and ferocious, like a cornered dog. 

He ducked his head, he did not plan on aggravating Charlie anymore. 

“No one touches my daughter!” He roared, a warning to staff, and stormed towards the emergency exit. 

Carlisle could see it then, the fearlessness needed to hunt vampires, the ability to stare one of their kind in the eye and drive a stake through the chest. He no doubted the man would rather face seventy vampires than his current situation. 

“Awful isn’t it doctor,” a young nurse shook her head, looking forlorn towards the room. “So young, such a waste.” 

“Did you know her?”

“Who? Isabella? Oh yes, my younger brother is friends with her, she was always so kind, so lovely. She tutored him in government until he got an A, didn’t ask for anything in return.” She sighed deeply, catching a stray tear and leaving him once more to stew at the nurses station. 

Something made him think of his own father, and if he had had the chance to mourn his own death at the hands of a vampire. If he had found his corpse hidden in that basement, dead to the world while he transformed, would he have driven a stake into his heart? Or would he had helped him escape? Carlisle was not sure of the answer, but he knew he would not have wanted his father to suffer in his grief alone. Before he realised what he was doing he was moving toward the exit. 

Charlie Swan was crouched, head hanging so low, while tears dripped a steady rhythm onto the grass beneath him. 

“Charlie...” 

At his voice the man looked up, the face of a grieving man transformed into one of anger. 

“What do you want?”

In an attempt to touch the tissue as little as possible Carlisle held it out towards Charlie, a peace offering. Charlie stared at the small white tissue with such strange mixed emotions, he took it eventually, a grab that had it ripping, and a small corner remained held between his fingers. 

He did not know what to say so as not to offend the man, he could not offer condolences as he would throw it back in his face, nor could he offer advice as it would only inflame the man. So instead he leant against the brick wall. 

“I cannot begin to understand your grief, but my wife can, her boy died at birth and I saw how it consumed her.” He swallowed, an unnecessary human habit, but it displayed his nerves. He was sure Esme would not mind him sharing her tale however. “That is what killed her, her boy died and she couldn’t bare it, so she ended her own life shortly afterwards. I found her, mostly dead, and...” He stopped himself, unable to use the word ‘save’ as he knew Charlie would object. “I changed her, but it took a long while, dealing with it all. I’ve seen how consuming it can be... I can give you her number if you want someone to talk to about it...” Once more he knew the man would not accept the offer, but he hoped it was the thought that counted. 

He tried to understand the man before him, who had yet to say a single word beyond ‘what do you want’. 

Then it dawned upon him, justice. 

As any man would want.

“We’re looking for them still, we believe it’s just two of our kind. We still don’t understand the motive and they have yet to reach out to us. But...” He wondered if there was some Volturi code against what he was about to say, he was sure living in close contact with a group of vampire hunters had already broken a few laws anyway so what was one more, they would be dead within the century nonetheless and any crimes would be forgotten and thus forgiven. “If we do find them... we can pass on their location to you...”

He thought of his own youth, of London, of those midnight raids and of the horror he had seen that still lived with him to this day. Of the countless victims, both poor and rich, left like debris in the street, or thrown into the Thames without a second thought who would wash up on the banks leaving a detailed trail of evidence of the amount of vampires who lived within London. Violent crime was high back then and it was so easy to get away with. 

“You would turn in your own kind?”

Charlie had not used the tissue, scrunching it tightly inside his fist, while his other hand rubbed at his red eyes, wiping away the tears. 

“I do not associate myself with those kinds of vampires.” He responded, his tone tight and short. “You did not attend the meeting when we first arrived... I explained to your brethren then that while we may be vampire in appearance we do not engage with violence or killing, we only wish to exist in our quiet corner, undisturbed. Your council agreed to those terms. We are not like the rest of vampire kind.” 

It was clear Charlie did not believe his words, or understand them, Carlisle could not tell which. 

The hate for vampires was hard-wired into his DNA, suspicion was perhaps the kindest emotion he could regard Carlisle with, and for that he accepted it. 

“Since you’re here I want the truth. No sugarcoating. What did the vampire do to my daughter and what happens next?” 

He couldn’t look at Carlisle as he spoke, instead his eyes were trained on the horizon. Even so he still played with the large silver signet ring on his left hand, a weapon if needed. 

“Her spine is broken... she has several broken ribs, her femur is broken in two, alongside serious deep tissue bruising. Butt this is mostly superficial, and will heal over time. What the concern is the serious brain bleed she suffered...” He could see it then, the violent image invading his mind, the way the vampire would have slammed her head into the ground to subdue her, as it immediately quieted the victim through either knocking them out or disorientating them. Carlisle assumed she had been fighting, utilising her silver jewellery to the best effect, as evidence by the scratches on her hands and torn fingernails. “The brain activity we would be hoping to see, any improvement at all, just isn’t there... This is not what we expect to be seeing when the patient is in recovery...” 

He paused, watching as perhaps for the first time, Charlie acknowledged the severity of his daughters condition. 

The next thing he saw was a first aimed straight for his face. 

*

“So you’re telling me.... that you and that Black kid have never....”

“Fucked!” Mike cut in laughing, Jessica aimed a sharp kick that he managed to dodge, angry he had ruined her interrogation. 

“Nope.” Bella shrugged unable to bite back a smile. Just because she hadn’t technically had sex with him in the traditional notion didn’t mean she hadn’t done stuff. But that was private. She thought of only the previous night where he had come over for dinner with Charlie. They had gotten along so well, talking of sport, fishing and cars. Traditional guy stuff. Charlie had practically beamed when she told him they were dating, as though he and Billy had had it all planned out since their births’.

How as she had walked him to his car after Charlie had waved him off he had held both her hands in his, how warm he was, how comforting. How he had pressed his lips to her own and she had felt like she was on fire. 

“You’re such a little tease Bella.” Jessica rolled her eyes, and snapping her gum so loudly it echoed around the clearing. 

“What about you and...”

“Shut your whore mouth?” She had dived on her, clamping a hand around her mouth while the two wrestled, giggling with each other until Bella emerged victorious. 

“Stupid question Bella, of course we’ve done it. Nearly got caught too last week by my mom. She wasn’t supposed to be home until seven but...” Mike shrugged with a cool laughter while he and Tyler hi-fived. 

“Mike that’s private!” Jessica whined having nestled herself into Bella’s lap she began to plait her hair. It didn’t particularly matter about what they knew about each other. All being close friends, they were the core five after all. Bella just liked her intense privacy. 

Although Angela did know everything. But she was a special case, she was Bella’s person. 

“I think everyone knows what you and Mike get down to in sixth period,” Tyler chuckled with a sly wink at Mike. Jess squealed in anger. 

“Anyway shouldn’t we be heading back soon, we’ll be loosing the light soon.” Angela suggested, relieved to shift the conversation away from boyfriends and other stuff like that. She began to tidy their picnic away, all the Tupperware and flasks they had brought.

“Ang come on, we know these woods well. We’ll be fine.” Mike tried to convince her. What he was really saying, which both Bella and Jessica understood, was that it was safe from supernatural terrors. Wolves and bears were a whole other deal but they were not too deep in the woods and nothing had happened all day, nor was the dark a problem, each having their phone with a flashlight on it. No one was particularly worried. 

So they stayed that bit longer, joking and laughing, Mike and Tyler wrestling as boys do. Only when the cold started to set in did they move, packing their things up and heading back towards their cars, trucks and vans. Bella needed gas on her way home, she reminded herself again, having meant to do it the past two days. They reached their vehicles, hugging and saying goodbye to one another. Mike hoisting himself into her cab, his house was on her way home and it had made sense to give him a lift. 

“God I don’t want to go back to school tomorrow,” he pulled out a stick of gum offering her one, she had already completed all her homework, so all she had to do that evening was shower and read her book a little, she wasn’t particularly hungry and Charlie was working late. 

As she pulled out, her headlights sweeping across the vehicles of her friends she felt a deep unsettling unease spread through her bones. Mike began to fiddle with her radio with futility, it had been broken for months. 

“This isn’t right.” 

“Huh,” he wasn’t listening, instead still twisting the knob with intensity. 

“Mike.” She slammed on the break. “Something… something is wrong?” He continued to ignore her, the radio static only increased in volume, a screaming static loudness that made her skin itch. 

She caught his hands in her own, “look at me, why won’t you look at me?” 

She slammed on the break as a strange, tingling numbness had begun to spread throughout her body. The static noise faded into the background, a soundtrack of nothingness. 

“It doesn’t matter that it didn’t happen like this though, you don’t really want the truth do you?” His hands turned to ice in her hands, becoming stiff. 

“What truth?” Her voice wobbled, fear grasped at her throat as the tingling began working its way up her spine, ice colder than Mike’s hands began spreading out like roots underneath her skin. She had to look up, every sane thought in her body was begging her to keep her eyes down, settled on his hands, where it was safe, unsettling but safe. But she had to look… she had to… 

Blood coated his green rain jacket, his neck, more of a wound than a neck, pumped out blood almost lazily, leaving a waterfall effect down his jacket and onto her car seat, before pooling in the seat well. His eyes were bloodshot from burst veins, his skin a mottled grey and his mouth, his lips leeched of colour.

“You didn’t want this did you Bella, to remember this?” His voice was a mere rasp, she knew in reality he wouldn’t have been able to speak as his vocal cords had been torn, screaming as he drowned in his own blood.

She didn’t understand… how could… 

She screamed, so loudly it hurt her own throat, she screamed and screamed and couldn’t stop as the memories began to flood back. Of each kill, watching her best friends murdered before her eyes before the culmination of her own death, the numbness in her legs where the vampire had stood on her spine so heavily it had been cleaved in two. She had stood no chance. 

“Am… am I dead?”

Tears splattered down her face, the rain came down heavily, so heavily her windshield wipers could not keep up with it, beating loudly down upon the roof of her truck. She was stuck inside, unable to move, unable to see. 

“Oh Bella…” 

Mike’s hand, so cold, brushed her hair away from her face. 

*

Renee had not set food in the church since she had baptised Bella there. She had not been raised religious but had had been Charlie’s church, Charlie’s faith. She hasn’t minded at the time knowing she was going to afford her baby her own choice, exposing her to as many different world views, ideas and religions as she could. Then she would let her decided. And if..... if she chose Charlie’s church then so be it. She had tried. 

All the good it did her. 

Bella had made her choice, unfortunate as it was, but she had made it. She had chosen Charlie’s church. And here it was her funeral would take place. 

Her hands shook as she blessed herself as she entered, the holy water was so cold as it touched her forehead. A blessing. It felt wrong. She wasn’t the one who needed blessing in that moment. 

Instead she sat on the pew at the very back, hidden to one side. The church was large and wooden, Pastor Weber was one of the other parents who had lost a child. She knew the girl was one of Bellas closest friends. Who probably knew her daughter better than she did. 

Pulling out her phone she scrolled through coffin prices. She had not realised just how expensive death was and she hoped to god Charlie had some liquid assets. Maybe they could use Bella’s college fund? As she certainly didn’t need it anymore. She and Phil certainly didn’t have money they could throw around. Even worse she now had to compete with four other mothers. 

Who was the saddest?

Who grieved most?

Who spent most on their child’s funeral?

All of those questions swirled round her head. She knew Karen Newton definitely had her beat in nearly all of those categories. Charlie was doing a good job of acting the crazy father. Not even leaving her side to eat or sleep. It would have to end soon, soon he would break and it would be up to her to pick up the pieces. Again. 

She favourited a nice pine coffin. Affordable.

Charlie would kill her if he knew what she was thinking, but she was just future planning. She was always good at that. It was how she had escaped Forks. 

“Mrs Swan...” a voice came from her right, someone must have snuck in. 

“It’s Dwyer now.” She responded coolly. 

Mr Newton stood over her. Grief etched deep into his features. Mike was an only child too. She knew the other parents had other siblings to cling too. Their homes weren’t forever empty , filled with ghosts. 

“May I sit?” Mr Newton, Kier, had been a few years above her in school. 

“Sure. Why not.” 

He collapsed beside her, his breathing laboured, she assumed he had been crying. 

“How is she doing?” 

Her acrylic nails dug into her palm. If he offered prayer for her dying daughter there was no promise she would act right. 

“No better but no worse.” She unclenched her fists. “I spoke with the doctor the other day about end of life care.” She wondered if he would flinch. He did.

“I’m sorry Renee,” her said her name with such care, none of this Mrs business, she knew it was all bullshit anyway. He said her name like Charlie used to. 

“How are you and Karen doing?” She wielded the name of the wife with care. 

“Strange. It’s all so strange. I keep going to wake him up for school in the morning, I’m half asleep see, then I go into him room and.... nothing has changed. The bed is still made, the curtains open, the folded clothes that he had promised he’d put away when he got back. It’s empty. The whole damn house is empty. And I break down.” They had closed the shop for the time being so his days was filled with nothingness, similar to her. 

“I keep going to text her. That’s how we kept in contact. Constant texts. Anything funny I’d see I’d send it to her. I still do. Whether I remember or not. But they’re starting to pile up now, all the messages unread.... they weren’t able to find her phone so I don’t even know if they have the phone. It makes me sick to think of...” The words began to pour out of her, all black bile and anger, so she bit them back.

“No word on the case?” 

“No. No fingerprints, no traces of DNA, no way of know where they even went. Nothing. It’s like they disappeared.” Not that Charlie had been any help on that front. Instead she had charmed it easily from the deputy. 

He heaved a sigh beside her 

“The funeral is tomorrow. They’re doing one a day, making it a long weekend. Friday to Monday. I think they’re trying to make it some community thing. But Mike’s is tomorrow.” He scrubbed at the stubble that had grown due to negligence. “Would you like to come?” 

“That’d be lovely Kier. Thank you.” Like a cobra ready to strike she reached up, pressing a hand to his arm gently.

The solidarity of the grieving parents. 

It didn’t take much more. For them to sneak around the back of the church, away from the eyes of the God, but more importantly away from he eyes of the road. For him to slam her against the wooden slats. His mouth hungry against her own. Searching for answers, for relief, anything to take the pain away. She let him use her, letting his hands roam, his mouth abuse her own. She shoved him away shortly after he had finished, not bothering to pull her underwear up, she kicked it away to the nearest shrub. 

He was crying again. Mumbling apologies. Half sentences that bled with guilt that came with cheating on your wife while she grieves your dead son. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Kier,” she promised and was gone. 

*

“He’s asked you to what?” 

Carlisle had asked him to go on a ‘walk’ with him, the rest of the family had assumed he had meant a hunt, preferring the euphemism. Only Edward had known the truth, privy to the turbulence within his maker’s mind, torn and confused. Carlisle hid the reason away, creating a puzzle for Edward to piece together. 

It hadn’t taken long, just far away that they became out of ear-shot of the rest of the family. The moon could barely reach its fingers into the deep fo the wood, so black the two figures practically glowed. 

Carlisle replayed the scene in his mind once more, Edward could feel the confusion Carlisle felt as Charlie flew toward him. He knew that the primary care physician had finally spoken to him about removing care for Isabella, and how the man had howled, full of pain and fear. Even his wife had recoiled from the sound, well ex-wife as she liked to remind everyone. Isabella Swan was dying, a little bit more each day, life leaking from her body and into the room, the ground beneath her, the soil beneath that.

“I don’t know what to do Edward?” He sat heavily upon a fallen tree, long dead it remained a hollow structure, forgotten within the woods. It was a favourite place of theirs for private conversations. 

Charlie had wrapped his hands in Carlisle’s white doctor’s coat, slamming the man against the wall with little care or concern. Instead blind panic was etched into his features. “You have to change her.” There was no request, only a demand. “She can’t die. I won’t let it. You have to change her!” 

“But he hates our kind?” 

Edward had never met Isabella, but he felt like he knew her, like he knew all the dead children, as every mind in Forks replayed every memory they had of their dead, over and over again. He noted she was the biggest waste, the most beautiful amongst her friends. A shame. 

Of course he also felt anger at their deaths, the use of violence upon children, he had seen the autopsy reports and the evidence of torture, of a brutal kill upon them all. He wondered if it were a warning. To them, vampire-hunters? Or their coven? The message was not clear. 

“He loves his daughter more.”

He shrugged and rubbed his face, such a human gesture. 

“You know how it affected Rosalie…” His last change, Emmett didn’t count, as Rosalie and already done half the job anyway by the time she appeared on their doorstep, bloody and crazed. But Rosalie had been so cruel, she had tortured Carlisle, twisting the sharpened knife of guilt again and again. 

“You did it for my mother,” he spoke quietly, desperately trying to conjure the face of his mother. One Carlisle supplied easily, caught in his own memories as he compared the scenes of Elizabeth’s impassioned plea from her death bed, to Charlie’s angered plea. Both desperate for their children to live. 

His heart ached for a moment, wishing for his mother, her laugh, or her gentle touch, just for a moment in time…

“You think I should say yes?” 

He looked to him with such earnest feeling, his mind a tangle of thoughts Edward could not quite make out if he wanted him to say yes or no. 

“I cannot answer that for you… however she is dying and will die regardless of your actions…” He stared off into the distance, wondering how he would have felt if people had debated whether or not he deserved to live. He would have been angry, violently angry. Of course he deserved to live… But like this? A half-life, a creature of the night having to kill to survive? “How old is she?”

“Seventeen.” Carlisle heaved a deep sigh. Their stories were so similar, Carlisle couldn’t help but compare the two in his mind, placing them side by side.

“Maybe it should be put to a vote?” It would effect them all after all, and it was quite clear Carlisle did not want to make the decision himself. 

Rosalie voted no, angry even at the suggestion. But it was Jasper who surprised him, a no, it was of course not safe to have a young vampire around Alice as it would create even more danger for her. Carlisle abstained. Esme was conflicted, but was leaning towards yes believing the girl should have some chance at life, Emmett voted yes. While he waited and watched instead he became the deciding vote. 

Rosalie bared her teeth at him, warning him not to go against her just to be contrary, a girl’s souls at stake, she had reminded him, venom in her tone. 

“Give me until tomorrow. Then you’ll have you answer.” 

*

Everything was black, something pressed down on her all around, she could not breathe, instead every time she opened her mouth gasping for air her mouth was filled with something bitter tasting. Something else wriggled against her body, eating away at her flesh. She screamed but only tasted more bitterness. Fighting against the oppressive force she began to fight, kicking her arms and legs, there was one way that was easier and so she dug her fingers into the less compact blackness, toward an escape. Finally someone grabbed onto her arm, hauling her out to freedom…

She collapsed upon the ground coughing and gagging, black bile spilled from her lips, dirt, she had been buried alive…

Her body ached, from head to toe, every inch of her felt as though she had been set on fire and left to burn for hours, then flayed. Still gasping for air she lay face first upon the ground, hands grasping at the woodland debris, twigs and sticks letting them cut into her palms just to ground herself.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” a reassuring voice came from above, a hand brushed her hair gently.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange, deep, it hurt to speak. 

“You’re going to be okay, you’re saved.” And so she stared up into the red eyes of her murderer…

**Author's Note:**

> Renee was probably my favourite to write   
> Moral compass whom? 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you're feeling kind, remember I thrive off validation


End file.
